


Devil's Advocate

by luznocedaz



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Fratt - Freeform, FrattWeek, M/M, Marvel Universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:21:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22352527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luznocedaz/pseuds/luznocedaz
Summary: Both of their adrenaline spikes, and it’s an uncomfortable mix of sweat, speed, and the cry of anger. It doesn’t stop the devil from listening to the quick grip as the leather loosens in Frank’s hold. Matt holds tightly onto Frank’s hand, and he knew his own heart wouldn’t lie that he didn’t want to let go. Frank turns to his direction, in annoyance of Matt’s resistance to murder. Whether they liked it or not, they both knew this war was about morality than a war between crime and society.
Relationships: Frank Castle/Matt Murdock, Fratt week - Relationship, Frattweek - Relationship, fratt
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19
Collections: Fratt Week





	1. City

**Author's Note:**

> mini-fic

Matt’s head faces toward the direction of the man whose heart beat intensified with the sharp cold pain in his lungs. The apartment remains still and eerily silent but to carry the vocal breathing from both of the vigilantes. With the adrenaline waving inside in the blind man’s legs, he races towards the taller man in anger, and relentless frustration. Matt’s teeth grind against one another, especially when Frank’s backside hits against the bricks in the bedroom.  
  
“Frank.”   
  
Matt snares as he listens to the other man’s pulse quicken even more. This was always how he released his relentless anger and aggravation, even if it clearly wasn't healthy. He never hated Frank for who he couldn't help being, but the actions Frank would go all out for, was not in his best interest. Frank grunts with a thud, and he stares down the devil with an ounce of worry. However, Frank internalizes that worry with anger and frustration. He would never show deliberate compassion unless it meant something to him, but this was a pesky bug getting in the way of his goals.  
  
“Anyone ever tell you that breaking and entering my home, is a damn crime? _Altar boy._ ”   
  
Frank spits out, staring at the smaller of the two in front of him.  
  
His angered tone and adrenaline-spiked pulse, Matt knew his petty response is a lie. A ruse to defuse, and distract from the situation entirely, but the devil knew better than that. His grip tightened on Frank’s collar, rather too tightly for both of their own good. His head turns at the direction of yelling and stomping, and the footsteps in the hallway become more distant than before. Matt listens to Frank’s muttering of his self-comforting words, and his chest tightens at what other lie Frank could give. He knew this man all too well with his need to lash out his grievances on criminals who may deserve it, but should never have death executed to.  
  
“ _One batch. Two batch._ ”   
  
He whispers his chant, his rhythmic cry for war.   
  
A war neither of them would win. Frank turns his head, and he moves his hands to reach for the loaded glock hidden in his holster. Both of their adrenaline spikes, and it’s an uncomfortable mix of sweat, speed, and the cry of anger. It doesn’t stop the devil from listening to the quick grip as the leather loosens in Frank’s hold. Matt holds tightly onto Frank’s hand, and he knew his own heart wouldn’t lie that he didn’t want to let go. Frank turns to his direction, in annoyance of Matt’s resistance to murder. Whether they liked it or not, they both knew this war was about morality than a war between crime and society.  
  
“‘ _Penny and dime.’_ Frank, they’re gone, and they made it onto the 24th street, where the police can apprehend them.”   
  
Matt responds, and his reply is quick to Frank’s executioner judgement.  
  
“Goddamn, red. I swear to god, you really must be the devil. You always take my fucking shot, you think we’re gonna -- we’re gonna sing _kumbaya_ and hold hands?”   
  
Frank retaliates as his grip tightens in return. His knuckles turn into a shade of white, and he stares down the devil in front of him. There was nothing this relentless pest would do to keep bothering him, and it aggravated the soldier sent to aim his target. If he wanted Matt dead, he would be dead right now. However, his infuriating infatuation with the man in red tights was the least of his worries. Frank makes an expression at his odd thoughts about Matt, did he genuinely think of him in red tights? It's at the worst time of all, that is until Matt disrupted them.  
  
“Frank, for once in your life, listen to me. You _can_ change, I know you can. We don’t… we don’t have to keep fighting, you have done good with me, and showed me there’s a man under all of this _Punisher_.”   
  
Matt preaches, and to Frank’s eyes, he bores him. For playing cards, his choice isn’t to have a heart. He had one, and that got destroyed with his family.  
  
Matt listens to his heartbeat, and the rush of his pulse lessens to someone of infatuation. He can feel his intense stare and Frank’s questioning expression. He can feel his frustration and guilt in his voice, whether they would like to admit it or not. The devil gives a soft smile, and he removes his sweat-ridden helmet from his head. His eyes face into Frank’s questioning view, he could tell the executioner carried the world on his shoulders. He doesn’t respond to Matt’s statement, but the impact hits him all the same when the altar boy preached about redemption.  
  
“It’s the same bullshit all the time, Red.”   
  
Frank mutters to him, but in the low whisper where only Matt could hear.  
  
The devil’s head turns to the direction of that whisper, and he lets his helmet drop to a thud on the wooden flooring. By both of their heartbeats, and the tenderness of Frank’s tone, Matt’s anxiety soothes away to the scent of the man in front of him. His verbal response to Matt is a firm statement, but his low heartbeat tells otherwise to the cherry vigilante. Matt's eyebrows raise in both questioning and suspicion, but he tries to play on Frank's unintentional game. He's a difficult man to read, but he knows by the Punisher's heartbeat that there's more than meets the eye. He has something up his sleeve, and it's not a choice of weapon.  
  
“...You think so?”   
  
Frank whispers, seeming surprised to hear about change.   
  
Matt listens to the shock in Frank’s voice, or to the exhale that left his mouth when he spoke gently. It left the blind man flustered, as he then listened to the blood rush to the Punisher’s face. The proclaimed devil moves closer to Frank, and to turn his angered hand-grip into a soft-hold, for the man to calm down at his gentle touch. He knew this should have never happened, especially with those two together. Matt craved for further intimacies like these, if only it was agreed upon with his friends. If only, they had more moments like these together.  
  
“Be _with_ me, it doesn’t have to keep being like this. Even if you can’t… come back from it, then come to me.” 

The devil whispers, and his nose presses to the tip of Frank’s rigid one.  
  
Frank watches his movements and expressions, which catches himself in a triad of feelings for the other. The vigilante that won’t take the denial, and he was a stubborn pain in the ass about it. A blind man at law, or the masked crusader who created the Punisher, into the devil worshiper he denies to be. It’s not easy, quitting what you cannot help anymore. Fight or flight reflexes ignite even in his sleep, but not even that could stop him from pressing his chapped lips against the others. His eyes close at the pressure, to remind himself that there’s a home after it's been burned down. 


	2. Wounded family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt pauses as he feels Frank’s rough-skinned hand follow the trace of his jaw, and his thumb on the corner of his lips before his thumb moves to the bottom of his chin. The devil guides his hand back to his own face, and he helps Frank trace his finger-tips around his jaw, to his nose, and back to his lips once before. Matt interlaces his fingers with Franks, and he moves to kiss his palm gently. Frank stares into his silver-colored eyes in awe, and in fluster.
> 
> “I’ll never let you cross onto my line, because if you did, I know I won’t ever cross into yours. Matt, I can’t ever comeback from that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mini-fic -- i forgot to post so im just gonna mix the family and wounded prompt together

“This isn’t how it’s goin’ to end, red. Stay with me, god damn it.”  
  
Frank’s yelling, and he’s terrified for the man fading in and out of consciousness in front of him. The man groans, and his head rolls around with the injuries oozing out from limb to limb. The gashes, carries less significant impact than the turmoil Frank weighed on his head. He continually replays the scenario of his family’s jarring death over and over again. The resentment, self-blame, and anguish recoils in his mind as he thinks about his newfound love seemingly die repeatedly.  
  
“Be-Be careful, sew vertically. The pain is mostly abdominal, just --”  
  
Matt groans, and that leaves the ex soldier trying not to react harshly.  
  
“I know how to do this. I’m not a virgin at this, red.”  
  
Frank tortled, trying to keep his defensive attitude adamant. He won’t show weakness, not now.  
  
Matt grips onto Frank’s hands, and his eyes are pleading to comfort the man attempting to block out his unavoidable torture he endured forever ago. He leans upward after being forced back down so many times, and the devil plants an attempted kiss on Frank’s sweaty forehead. Frank looks at him, and his pressure freezes on the skin-tingling feeling. Frank gently presses his hands on Matt’s bare chest, and he settles the wincing man back down to relax. Matt closes his eyes, and Frank moves the needle and thread through the broken skin of the devil’s leg. His heart is pounding, and he’s aware the wounded satan is listening.  
  
There’s only silence to filter their distressed atmosphere, there’s a void that Frank is surrendering to as he repeats the sewing of gashes in and out. He watches Matt try to appear relaxed, but Frank’s superpower was his intuition, that the wounded devil is trying to mask the unadulterated pain escaping his lips and bleeding out of his eyes. It terrifies Frank further, but his frantic thoughts sizzle out by the adrenaline spike he had hours ago, fighting off ninjas he shot down on the building months ago.  
  
 _“Fuck!”_ _  
__  
_Frank whispers frustrate. Tears escape, and his eyes close tightly while his hands holds onto the sides of his head.  
  
Matt’s adjusting his jaw slowly, and he notices the pain everywhere around his body. He’s thankful for the proclaimed _‘Punisher’_ to reward him from execution-style punishment, but his head wonders to the direction of where Frank sat at the corner of the bed. The devil listens to the soft movement of skin on hair, the smell of salt inside of tears, and his head tilts to the left slightly when he hears droplets leak onto jean fabric. Through excruciating pain from his shoulders, to his knees, Matt tries effortlessly to move positions and to rest his head on Frank’s lap. Frank’s eyes open slightly, but his hands doesn’t escape his hands.  
  
“You told me _‘stop digging.’_ But the past, Frank. That builds us, and puts us on different paths. We never asked for that, and _God_ _is_ _a cruel son-of-a-bitch_. I mean, who rewards a boy who did something heroic, to leave him blind, and to let his father die while his mother walks out on him?”  
  
Matt sighs, and he moves his arms around to grab Frank’s hand.  
  
Frank is speechless, his version of vigilante justice could’ve been a well-off response, but how can he argue with someone he only started dating days ago? If only, morality and his past didn’t wound him mentally, or physically. He could end this by saying how _‘I don’t like you’_ or that he _‘never wanted to move on yet.’_ Matt isn’t ‘ _one hell of a marine’,_ he’s simply the devil that Frank worshiped with hesitation. Falling in love with a man is forbidden by Catholics, and it felt like a betrayal to his family. Everything may spiral all at once, however; his feelings for Matt is hard to wrap around.  
  
“I’m _never_ going to see my baby-girl grow, or see my boy happy, red. You _don’t know_ what that’s like, watching them fall in front of you, and their brains spilling all over. You hope their ghosts is a nightmare. Except, you’ve been awake from that coma, for months. Reliving it everyday.”  
  
Frank’s chest is shaking, and his palm follows the trace of Matt’s hand.  
  
“Frank, I can’t change that, but you have _me_. I’m here, and I’ll fight to stay here. Keep being by my side, but you need to stop killing...”  
  
Matt pauses as he feels Frank’s rough-skinned hand follow the trace of his jaw, and his thumb on the corner of his lips before his thumb moves to the bottom of his chin. The devil guides his hand back to his own face, and he helps Frank trace his finger-tips around his jaw, to his nose, and back to his lips once before. Matt interlaces his fingers with Franks, and he moves to kiss his palm gently. Frank stares into his silver-colored eyes in awe, and in fluster.  
  
“I’ll never let you cross onto my line, because if you did, I know I won’t ever cross into yours. Matt, I can’t ever comeback from that.”  
  
“Karen’s written an article about _‘Vigilante Boyfriends.’_ There’s no lines anymore. We’re here now, aren’t we?”  
  
Frank smiles softly at the thought, but doesn’t respond verbally than a simple nod. He was sure talking took more energy from Matt already. The thought of being with him is beauty, but the change is scarier than needed. The ex soldier leans back on the bed, and he helps the devil adjust to lay beside him. After all of what they have been dealing with, he’s still gentle with the bruised, but not broken man in his view. Matt exhales some of the pain he held in earlier when he barely made a foot onto his own bed. Frank leans upward, and he removes his jacket, and vest until he’s visibly shirtless. Matt takes note of that, he listens for the soldier to lean onto the bed and to pull him in. They hold one another, with Matt’s head resting on Frank’s bare chest.  
  
“Hell’s Kitchen is my home. A shitty home, but this place has room for you. I have room for you.”  
  
“Yeah, and why’s that, red?”  
  
“Because I love _you,_ Frank.”  
  
Matt listens to Frank's heartbeat, and he notices it races ever so slightly. The devil clings to the man despite his never-ending pain he received during the day. He moves his neck, and the devil plant's a kiss on Frank's chest. Frank's cheeks turn to a light shade of red, and he watches Matt while caressing his hair. The wounded man breathes jaggedly as his ribs felt like stabs on his insides, but that doesn't stop him. Matt moves upward to press his lips on Frank's neck, which is followed by a gasp and exhale from the both of them.   
  
Frank grips the hair in his hand, and Matt makes a grunt at the sudden attention he's receiving. All of this excites him further than it would ever burden him. The thought of receiving this again, felt all too surreal and unfamiliar to the man. The neck kissing, turns into a non-stop kiss on each others lips. The devil breaks away, and he presses his nose on Franks. They're both breathing hard, but it never bothered either of them. Frank smiles, while never breaking his gaze on Matt. Maybe, his thoughts were from fear of change, but he would do that for this man. Especially, to fall in love with a Catholic man he was never supposed to fall for.  
  
"I love you too, red."


End file.
